Fred and George at the Ministry
by EternalEarth
Summary: 15-year old Fred and George are sent on Work Experience for two weeks to the Ministry,in the hopes of them taking education more seriously.Will they embrace the opportunity or cause havoc? Read to find out...Now completed.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any Harry Potter characters. They are the property of J.K Rowling**

Chapter 1

'This is ridiculous' exclaimed an indignant Percy. 'I have great respect for the staff at Hogwarts, but this is the most ludicrous idea they have ever dreamed up. They really must be desperate. How is the Ministry going to be able to operate properly with these two capering about, blowing things up?'

It was after the Christmas holidays and the day the Weasley children were due back at school.

Fred looked up from his porridge and gave his brother an amused look. 'We are not going to 'caper' about. You make us sound like pair of demented elves'

George laughed. 'Yeah, and you're also describing us like we are a serious threat to national security or something...'

'And I would be right', seethed Percy, shooting George a steely glare.

'Hey, how do you think we feel about it', said Fred defensively. 'We don't want to spend two dreary weeks filing through scraps of yellowing paper...'

'Or plonking tea's and coffee's on people's desk because they can't be bothered to get of their lazy...'

'Stop there Fred', warned Mrs. Weasley, swiftly turning from the bacon pan to glare.

'I'm George, Mum' he corrected wearily. But Mrs. Weasley wasn't listening, for alarming flames were shooting from the pan, spraying the surrounding area with bacon fat.

'Anyway, our point is that we are going to be driven crazy with boredom in such a dull environment. You can't blame us if we want to spice it up a little...' continued Fred.

Percy opened his mouth to complain, but Fred silenced him by raising his hand.

'We know that when this school years finished you want to lodge yourself behind a Ministry desk for the rest of your colourless life, Perce, but not everyone is so keen; even if it is only for a couple of weeks.'

'But that's not all Percy has planned though. He wants to go all the way to the top. Become Minister of Magic. Turn the whole wizarding nation into an army of lifeless vegetables. I can see the laws now; absolutely no enjoying yourself or else you'll be hanged...' teased George, giving Percy a malicious grin.

'Ok, that's enough', snapped Mrs. Weasley, fearing an argument was about to erupt. She was tense enough as it was; due to the fact her two most unruly children were to be unleashed into a government building.

'Isn't this Work Experience a Muggle idea anyway?' she asked suspiciously, chiselling blackened remains from the bottom of the pan.

George frowned. 'Generally, yes. But the school have made an exception. They seem to think that temporarily experiencing how a working environment operates will make us quit fooling around and aspire to be drab little office-goers.'

Fred shook his head in a pitiful manner. 'Poor deluded souls'.

At that moment Ron and Ginny came thundering down the stairs in a clumsy fashion, pouring into the kitchen. Yawning loudly they collapsed into their chairs and wearily tucked in.

'No bacon?' enquired Ron in a disappointed tone.

'No', said his mother tightly. 'I see you two finally surfaced. About time. I was worried I'd have to cart you onto the Hogwarts Express in your pyjamas.'

Mr. Weasley wandered in clutching a dusty plug, an old circuit board and a pair of Muggle jeans, which looked as though they had recently been dragged through a rock-pool. He carefully set them down at the table and then began avidly examining them with various exclamations of 'Oooh' and 'So clever'.

'Arthur! We don't have time for that. We have to drop Ron, Ginny and Percy of at the station before you take Fred and George to work experience. And what are those disgusting trousers doing on the table! You'd better hope all that green gunk doesn't go in any food. Ron and Ginny had enough near-death experiences last year as it is...'

Percy vainly tried once more to express how absurd he found this Work Experience idea. Once he'd finished a pretty good-sized rant, aimed mainly at his Father, Mr. Weasley was no more considerate about his concerns.

'Nonsense Percy. Fred and George will be fine. I'm sure at the end of this I can still go into work proud of my children', said Mr. Weasley with more confidence than he felt.

'But Father, if you let this doomed plan go ahead, there won't _be_ a work to go to. It will be little more than a crater in the ground'.

'Quit your moaning Percy. We're going', shouted Fred.

'Now you two', said Mrs. Weasley, sitting opposite her 15-year old twins and adopting her most stern expression. 'Promise me you will be good?'

'We promise', they said in unison. Which was rather like pig promising not to roll in mud...


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything as all the characters are the property of J.K Rowling**

**Please, please review. I appreciate all feedback; positive or negative.**

Chapter 2

Through the busy thoroughfare of Kings Cross station, emerged the Weasley clan all sporting bright red hair and hurrying towards what appeared to be a solid pillar. The entrance to Platform 9 and three quarters.

'Honestly Ron,' gasped Fred. 'At the start of next term I'm buying you an enormous shoehorn to lever you out of bed. I'm not fond of all this unexpected exercise...'

He was interrupted when Mrs. Weasley gave him a violent shove through the brick pillar. Everyone else, panting and red-faced, followed after him. When all the heavy luggage was finally packed onto the train, the Weasley family resembled a large gang of sweaty tomatoes. The three returning children filed tiredly onto the train.

'See you in two weeks!', Fred shouted at Ron, Percy and Ginny, as they leant out of the train window. Percy raised his eyes to the sky in despair.

Mrs. Weasley forced a jolly smile despite the stressful morning. 'Goodbye you lot. Work hard...'

'...And try not to get kidnapped by anymore giant reptiles' finished George helpfully.

As the train disappeared into a veil of grey smoke, Mr. Weasley turned to his sons.

'Better get going or you will be late for work', he said brightly.

George groaned. 'I never thought I'd hear that sentence at such a young and innocent age'.

Fred nodded miserably. 'You're telling me'.

'Bye Arthur', said his wife, hugging him tightly. 'Look after them', she whispered fretfully in his ear, before apparating home to do some deep-breathing.

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Leaving the packed station Mr. Weasley, with his reluctant office-workers trailing behind him, took the 20-minute trudge through the mad streets of London to a very special location. A phone-box. After looking around furtively at the passing Muggle's, he and his two sons piled inside the cramped booth. Mr. Weasley dialled the appropriate number and the inside of the box, after giving a cautious shake, began to sink into the ground. This was new to Fred and George. They had made the occasional visit to their Dad whilst he was working, usually on demand from their Mother. But they had always travelled by the much quicker and less-shuddery method of floo-powder.

The tiny metal capsule finally completed its uncomfortable journey down, and its relieved passengers burst out of the door. The Atrium was an impressive sight for anyone's eyes and even workers that had been serving the Ministry for decades were still in awe of its dramatic effect. The roof seemed limitless, stretching into infinity, with magical effects plastering every square inch. In the centre of the room, the water from the giant golden fountain roared, money glittering from its clear pool at the base. There was the infrequent burst of green flame as another Ministry worker popped out from one of the fire-places lining the hall. Brushing ash of their robes as they walked, many were headed for the ornate lifts at the end of the room. The Weasleys followed them, neatly avoiding a lanky wizard who was waving his flaming sleeve around in panic while a dozen others attempted to douse him with water.

They made their way up to the Security desk, and to Mr. Weasleys horror he found that the security wizard had done what he had been threatening to do for a while. Get a discount haircut. It looked as if the barber had had a particularly violent spasm whilst holding the razor. Mr. Weasley was too polite to comment, and instead introduced his sniggering sons behind him.

'My sons, Fred and George Weasley, are here for work experience. The school told us to come to this desk to get them signed in', he said.

The security wizard looked past Mr. Weasleys shoulder at the twins, and an expression of slight concern crossed his features. 'Ah, yes. They have been placed in the Department of Magical Games and Sports; in the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters, I believe.'

An identical look of surprise and pleasure lit up Fred and George's faces.

Mr. Weasley nudged George. 'You see. It shouldn't be so bad after all', he said, picking up on their enthusiasm.

Shiny visitor badges were thrust into their hands, along with little green cards.

'Those are temporary floo-passes' explained the wizard. 'While you here they will allow you to use any of these Atrium fireplaces', he said, gesturing to the ranks of them set into the peacock-blue walls.

'Thank you', said Mr. Weasley.

'Nice haircut' added Fred, grinning cheekily.

The wizard self-consciously ran a hand through his mutilated hair as he watched the Weasleys clamber into one of the many golden lifts.

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Fred and George stepped out into the poster-lined corridor, managing a brief wave to their Father before the lift doors clanged shut. They tromped up the carpeted hallway and turned left to find a wooden oak door that had a polished plaque nailed to it, proudly proclaiming its interior as 'The British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters'. Fred, the bolder of the two, pushed it open. A wide-open office greeted them, with many desks littering its large floor-space. Many of the tables held family photos, tottering in-trays and various novelty toys that did an assortment of bizarre things.

A dumpy, grey-haired woman who was talking animatedly into glass ball, spotted them and ushered them over.

'I've got to go now Gilbert. They have arrived', she said in an ominous tone. Fred and George both briefly wondered how far reaching their trouble-making reputation stretched.

'Welcome to the Quidditch League Headquarters', her smile evidently false. 'I have already prepared some tasks for you to do...' she said brightly, pointing at a teetering pile of parchment.

'This is going to be a slow fortnight...' muttered Fred.

***************************************************************************

Fred swore, as for the 10th time in as many minutes, he was on the receiving end of a nasty paper cut. George slumped into the seat next to him, after just returning from a tea-round.

'How's the tea-making going?, jeered Fred. 'Maybe I should fix you up a frilly apron?'

'I almost got decapitated by several memos, but nothing too eventful. Perhaps not the same for you. I see your loosing in your fight with the filing'.

'Your right. Two hours we've been sitting here bored. You know what...we should brighten it up a little', said Fred, contemplating all the possibilities.

'Wait up. Whose this then? The boss has come to say hello', George said pointing at a round and rather jolly looking fellow that had just burst through the door. Ludo Bagman. He looked round, saw the twins and strode over to their desk.

'Imploding quaffles!' he announced.

There was a short pause. 'Is that contagious?, asked Fred.

Ludo Bagman let a loud, hearty laugh erupt from his lips, jumping Fred. No-one in the office looked round. They were all apparently used to their boss's raucous outbursts.

Once he's finished his chortling fit he surveyed them with amused eyes. 'No, no. I wasn't here to greet you this morning due to an urgent call to inspect a batch of highly dangerous quaffles. They implode you see. They shouldn't do that'.

_You think... _thought George.

'Anyway, you two look bored out of your brains. Never fear'. He dropped his voice to a secretive whisper. 'I have a little treat for you. Not many people see what you're about to see. I'm taking you into the 'broom room' as we affectionately call it....'

Rather hoping this odd little man was not about to show them the janitors closet, Fred and George followed him, an eager look playing in their eyes.

**Will it be the janitor's closet? Or will it be something a lot more interesting? (let's hope so, or this story could turn out very boring). Next chapter might be a fairly long one, so please bear with me and give me time to update.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything. It is all the property of J.K. Rowling.**

**I'm sorry I took so long updating. I have had a lot going on recently. I will explain more at the end of this chapter.**

**Please review. This is my first fanfic ever, so I need plenty of feedback.**

Chapter 3

Leading them out of the crowded office, the twin's new boss took them around a winding string of corridors, oak doors lining the tacky walls. In his over-excited state, Bagman tended to walk very fast, which meant that Fred and George were forced to perform a re-enactment of their active morning at Kings Cross. All three were breathless when they reached their destination; a plain wooden door, tucked away near a dead-end.

'This is the broom-room. No-one really comes down here; I have the only set of keys. To be honest I don't even know if the cleaners are aware it's here, so I'm not sure of the conditions inside. Haven't been in here for about 6 months...' he muttered to himself, fumbling with a set of rusty copper keys.

Fred and George watched him, their enthusiasm weakening. After all, how interesting could this place be if it was so rarely visited?

Then came the satisfying click of a locked door being opened. Bagman tried the handle, but the wood had warped slightly in its long abandonment, causing the door to stick. Gritting his teeth, he took a short run-up and rammed his shoulder against it. A rather undignified method of entry, but it worked. The door sprang open.

'Okay, in you come', said Bagman, a boyish grin plastered to his flushed face.

The twins entered the gloom and looked around expectantly as Bagman flipped the lights with a brisk wave of his wand. Flickering light blossomed out of the tiny wall lamps, and flooded into the room.

'Amazing isn't it' said Ludo Bagman proudly.

Fred and George nodded their agreement, silenced by awe.

The room was like a shrine to Quidditch. Nailed to the walls, encased in glass boxes and set up on displays was a wonderful array of items.

The twins walked in, examining everything closely, still speechless.

There was an abundance of rare brooms, which Fred and George had only read about, carelessly scattered on moth-eaten velvet display tables. A long line of cedar chests were open, bludgers struggling against their rusty restraints. Below each of them were information signs, detailing all the famous Quidditch players they had smashed into (and some graphic description about the _places _they had smashed into; some more comfortable than others). A row of gleaming Golden Snitches were in a set on black velvet, like a sprinkling of stars; all had been gripped triumphantly by various world-famous players. Quidditch merchandise was spread out; cards, novelty toys, clothing, sweets, inflatable brooms (recommended that you don't attempt to fly them) and the less popular line of 'Grow your own bludgers'. Somebody had slapped signed t-shirts onto the walls like there was no tomorrow. It was a goldmine. Fred and George had no idea that such a place was hidden away in the Ministry.

George noticed that the whole east-wall of the room was made up of an unusual mixture of scorch marks and cheap plastering. He pointed it out to Bagman.

'What happened there? Did someone try and blow through the wall to get at all this stuff?'

Ludo Bagman looked slightly uncomfortable. 'No, no. That happened when the Senior Ministry Management were having their New Year's party next door...'

Swiftly changing the subject, he led them over to one of the many cases housing rare objects. A pair of slim, streamlined brooms lay there, screaming excellent quality. They were made of an almost auburn-coloured wood, and the bristles were framed by a thick golden band, fitted around the top of them.

'Are those...?', began Fred, hardly daring to believe his eyes.

'Yup. Smoulderdash 360.' He said pointing to the perfectly carved writing on the handle. 'Second only to the legendary Firebolt.'

Cogs began to turn in the twins brains. Plans began to formulate.

'So, you say no-one comes down here? How come? After all, this is an outstanding collection of pristine Quidditch items', said George, playing the flattery card.

'It's an archive of Quidditch history that needs to be preserved. Can't have a load of tourists milling about taking pictures, and generally risking the artefacts condition. Anyway I think that's all, so I'll take you back to the office.'

As Fred and George walked away, they shared a glace. Only a quick one. But it was enough to communicate what they were both thinking. These Smoulderdash's needed to be taken out for an evening's exercise...

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A loud, smelly explosion ripped through the quiet of the Quidditch League Headquarters. Everyone looked round from their desks, alarmed. A petite, blonde witch stared accusingly through her monocle at the wizard behind her.

'Lloyd! I told you not to eat that curry in the cafeteria! You know about the dodgy garlic they put in it...'

The wizard went bright red and shouted defensively, 'It wasn't _me_! I didn't touch the curry. Anyway, if it _was_ me you wouldn't be conscious right now...'

This pleasant conversation was interrupted as another deafening bang sounded; this time everyone saw the brown, pungent cloud begin to envelop the room.

'You see. Can't be me. It's coming from the other end of the office. Now unless I have extendable farts...'

_Extendable farts? _thought Fred, unwrapping another dung bomb. _Interesting idea. _From his position behind the office kitchen door he discreetly rolled the small brown ball into the centre of the room, where it promptly burst into a mist of putrid odour. By now most staff had given up trying to work, and instead were holding handkerchiefs over their faces and furiously writing begging memo's to Magical Maintenance, assuming they must be on another strike.

Ludo Bagman cheerfully bounded out of his office and pranced through the thick stink-cloud to face his gagging employee's.

'Well folks, this is a bit of a set-back and I understand it is difficult to work in these conditions. But we're just going to do the best we can and wait for the smell to disperse...'

While Bagman was addressing his staff, Fred signalled to his twin to commence stage two.

George collapsed dramatically to the floor, grasping his neck and making convincing choking noises. Fred charged out the kitchen and ran to his side, a mock-look of concern present in his features. He pretended to listen to his brother's breathing, before raising worried eyes to Bagman.

'It's this gas! It's closing his airways! It must be poisonous or something!' announced Fred to the assembled company, immediately causing an uproar of panic. Perfect.

Everyone launched themselves at the doors, pushing past Bagman who was unhelpfully waving his arms about in an extravagant manner.

'Everybody out!' he yelled, before leaning out the squashed doorway, pushing his wand to his neck and saying '_Sonorus'. _Immediately his voice was amplified and his words were heard throughout the floor. 'There has been a leak of toxic gas within the Ministry. It is suspected to be highly dangerous, and I'm ordering a mass evacuation', rang out Ludo's booming tones.

'No. Its fine', said Fred, declining help from Lloyd to move his brother, 'I can get him out of here by myself. You'd best go. Don't want to _die _now do you', he said, hoping this didn't sound over-dramatic.

Lloyd decided that he agreed with Fred, and hurriedly joined the hysterical crowd at the doorway. Once everyone had filed out, and the panicked cries ringing down the hallways became quieter, both twins burst out laughing.

'I'm sorry, but that has to go down in Weasley twin history', declared George.

'Yeah. We evacuated the entire Ministry of Magic with three dung bombs and a dose of bad-acting.', snorted Fred.

Still chuckling, they hauled themselves up and quickly walked into Bagman's deserted office. Glancing around Fred quickly noticed the keys, tossed casually on his untidy desk. He grabbed them, sprinted into the larger office and he and George threw open the doors, spilling out into the now-still corridor.

'Okay. Which way to the broom-room?' enquired George.

'Ah' said Fred, trying to mentally retrace the winding route they took that morning. 'Yeah, good point. No idea. I didn't think to leave behind a trail of bread-crumbs at the time...'

Both of them had identical defeated expressions on their faces as they struggled with the problem; until George snapped his fingers triumphantly.

'Bagman said there was a New Year's party next door. Dad's always said that general socialising activities take place in conference rooms', he grabbed a floor-map from a rickety leaflet stand. 'We just need to find the one for this department. Follow me'.

Impressed with George's memory more than anything, Fred followed him without a word.

Due to their combined map-reading skills they eventually found the familiar bland door, hiding one of the most exciting places they had ever been in.

'Do we know which key it is?' asked George, pointing at the large bunch of them in Fred's hand.

'Ah'

'This isn't one of our most well thought-out plans is it?', commented George.

Fred spent a good five minutes, rootling through the many keys until the right one was found, while George kept lookout for anyone not fooled by the dung bomb stunt. The door was finally opened.

Stumbling inside, they went up to the Smoulderdash's and carefully took them out of their dusty cases. They just stared at them for a minute in stunned awe, holding them as if they were made of glass.

Then George asked a pressing question. 'So how we going to get the broom's and the keys back before anyone notices their missing?'

'Easy', shrugged Fred. 'We just get up at like 5am tomorrow and put them back before anyone arrives.'

A pained expression flashed through George's face. '5 am. Ouch... Just ouch'.

His brother laughed. 'Hey, it means we get to ride on one of the best brooms in the world. We must all make sacrifices. Anywho, don't worry about tomorrow. Let's go have some fun with these baby's'. They both made a beeline for the lifts, eager to get home and commence 'having fun'.

**What will Fred and George get up to with their 'borrowed' brooms? More importantly, will they be caught? Find out in the next chapter. This will (hopefully) be one of many little adventures Fred and George get up to on work experience... This could be a fairly long fanfic.**

**The reason I have not updated for a while, and probably not going to again for a while, is because I have exams coming up in 2 weeks. I'm afraid that revision comes before writing at the moment. After my exams are over, I should be updating more often. Just bear with me; I don't intend on abandoning this story.**

**And of course, please review! My reader's comments are very important; positive or negative. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything. Everything is the property of J.K. Rowling.**

**May I first apologise for the **_**extremely **_**long wait; much longer than expected. I'm afraid its been a very busy few weeks, and I have found it difficult to find the time to sit down and have a proper writing session. Anyway, I will talk more at the end of the chapter.**

Chapter 4

The twins navigated their way through the deserted ministry; the Atrium, once a bustling hive of hurried activity and ringing chatter, was now an uncomfortably large, empty space. The pale aqua floor was strewn with a range of assorted items, dropped in panic. Wands, curling papers, several varieties of eye-wear, cloaks, shoes, hats, a few wigs, and for some peculiar reason, several dead ferrets.

Fred and George ran as fast as it was as possible for anyone to run that was holding two priceless artefacts of Quidditch history. They didn't want to risk any unexpected employee's returning, when in such an obviously guilty situation. Fred charged to the nearest fireplace.

'This one will do. Now let's try and look innocent when we get home, and if Mum asks about the brooms then just make up an excuse. And as usual, keep unhealthy feelings of guilt at bay', he said to George, almost tripping over an abandoned rubber duck.

'How insightful. You should, like, write a self-help book.' said George, voice dripping with sarcasm. 'And do I look like the kind of guy that would feel guilty about borrowing a couple of brooms?' added George, as Fred grabbed his shoulder and impatiently steered him into the ash-covered alcove.

Fred winked. 'I know mate. We're professionals, right?'

'Indeed', said George, gesturing to the chaos behind them. He grasped a fistful of Floo Powder, threw it to the floor and shouted 'The Burrow'. He quickly disappeared in shroud of flame.

His brother was about to follow him when he looked back at the inconveniently placed rubber duck. It was exactly the same as the one's Mr. Weasley collected. Their Dad had always been interested in random Muggle items. Grinning, he picked it up and slipped it into his pocket, before repeating George's actions. When the roaring green flame had disappeared from around him, exposing his living room, he saw that George was already engrossed in the familiar process of 'making excuses'.

'...And so you see, we couldn't possibly have left any faster. Bagman entrusted us to look after these brooms as a sort of work-related assignment. We were told that in any emergency, like the unfortunate one that occurred this afternoon, that we were to take the brooms and keep them in maximum-security...'

'...In your bedroom?' finished his mother, raising an eyebrow sceptically.

'Yes', said George defiantly, careful not to let a flicker of the truth pass through his features.

Fred nodded enthusiastically by his side, hoping it would make George's speech seem more convincing.

A slight smile tugged at the corner of Mrs. Weasleys mouth.

'Well I suppose your bedroom is a fairly safe place to keep them. No-one would dare go in there; it's like a death-trap...'

'I'm glad you boys got out okay though' said Mr. Weasley from the kitchen sink, where he was wiping away what appeared to be a large dollop of Heavy Duty Wand Wax from the front of his robes. 'It was like some kind of wild stampede when my floor heard the news. The Ministry is going to be a terrible mess when we get back. I wonder how long it will take for the gas to be contained...'

Leaving him to wonder, the twins made their way up their bedroom, still grasping the world-famous brooms in their hands.

********************************************************************************

Later that afternoon, on the brink of evening, Mr and Mrs Weasley were sitting in the living room discussing the day's events.

'It's the impression on the boys I'm worried about', Mr. Weasley was saying. 'First day of work experience and they almost get crushed by a frenzied mob. Not really selling the Ministry to them are we'.

'On the contrary, it may make them think of the Ministry as exciting. Maybe it will give them the impression that it isn't boring to work in government...' she would have continued, but was rather distracted by a large rubber duck hovering outside the window.

She stared a few moments, and then blinked. 'Arthur?' she asked slowly. 'Are Muggle novelty toys supposed to fly?'

He looked to where she was pointing and laughed. 'No. They're not, funnily enough.'

Mrs. Weasley stood up and made her way to the window, muttering '_those two'_. By the time she had reached and opened it, the duck was gone and the cool late-afternoon air breezed lightly into the room.

Fred and George swept silently round the side of the wall, out of view of their mothers accusatory eyes. These brooms were perfection. On their old and decrepit Cleansweep Fives, such an easy getaway would not be possible. The Smoulderdash's were masterpieces of flight; they seemed to slice through the air with unbeatable speed and undetectable sound.

Their Mother, not wanting to play along with their silliness, closed the window and disappeared back into the house. Fred dropped the duck down once again to the window, using the string attached round its beak. Charming it would have been more effective, but technically, even though it was term-time, they were not at school. And even Fred and George weren't willing to break the underage wizardry law, especially for the cause of messing around with a Muggle toy. George raised a battered tin can to his lips; their non-magical substitute for the _Sonorus_ charm.

Mrs. Weasley's attempt at settling back on the sofa was interrupted by the return of the dreaded Rubber Duck. Booming tones rang out, jumping both parents.

'Heed this warning mortals', the unmoving plastic face appeared to utter. Fred gave it a little shake, to give it the perception of rage. 'The Time of the Duck is upon you all. All will bow down to my mightiness! Your families are not safe; no one is safe from the wrath of Duckie!' This was followed by a menacing laugh, that didn't suit the comic expression carved into the toys face. The audience looked decidedly unimpressed, as the Evil One was jerkily pulled upwards to be returned to its chuckling owners.

'Okay. Let's do something else' said George as they landed in the garden. 'We've practiced getaways now, and there's only so much fun you can have with a plastic duck on a string...'

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The cool early-evening air gently caressed the small village of Ottery St Catchpole. The lush, rolling hills stretched into the horizon, the disappearing sun only just visible on its peak. Rushed blurs flitted through the tree-line to the left of the village, unseen by the inhabitants.

Fred and George knew very well that this outing was a risk that could land them in great trouble if caught. They only ever visited their local village on foot, under the safe pretence of Muggles. But being mounted on such swift steeds had injected them with a high dose of confidence. In the dimming light, submerged in the shadow of the tree-line and sitting aboard such silent and nimble rides decreased their chances of being sighted considerably. And besides, what was life without a little danger stirred in? A bland taste for sure.

Chopping through the chilled sky, under the cover of the tree-line, Fred found he was simply enjoying the breeze swiping sharply at his cheeks as he raced along. Every intake of breath was charged with the electricity of speed. After several more exhilarating swoops, he reluctantly slowed down a little and tried to relocate George. Peering through the dense branches he could see his brother dangerously close to one of the houses, just staring absorbedly through the upstairs window.

'Come on George!' he hissed. 'You're too exposed... Get back behind the tree's before you cause an innocent Muggle to doubt their mental stability'.

George barely glanced at him, and instead raised an excited hand. 'Hold on. I can see right into Marcia Jones's bedroom from here...'

Unfortunately his entertainment was cut short when Fred firmly pulled him back into the dark foliage.

They spent a pleasant ten minutes chasing and dive-bombing each other; surfing on the peak of their adrenaline, and occasionally halting to shout something rude at the bewildered village-folk, before zooming away undetected.

Neither twin noticed that tea-time was fast approaching; a bit like George not noticing the rather large tree that was fast approaching. He was far too occupied with pulling his t-shirt over his head and bellowing loud woots into the dim sky, to be able to quickly react the tangle of wood and leaves rushing towards him.

Fred was just about to suggest they leave when he heard a rather alarming shout behind him; he turned hastily enough to witness a blur of limbs and bristles disappear into the greenery. Forcing down laughter he flew over to assist George.

His twin was clinging to the branches, the skin on his arms infested with scratches but the Smoulderdash, still luckily intact. Fred needn't have bothered about containing his giggles; George himself was convulsing with near-hysterical laughter and Fred gladly joined in.

***************************************************************************

Dinner was a subdued affair. Mrs. Weasley was starting to become suspicious of their afternoon's antics and was also suspecting that the Ministry's 'gas leak' may have involved their contribution.

George had changed into a long-sleeved shirt to hide the evidence of his earlier mishap. He was suddenly distracted by an unwelcome sight outside. He urgently nudged Fred, who was busy sawing at a particularly tough piece of carrot. Fred followed his gaze and gulped; Ludo Bagman was walking towards the house. And not the usual happy, bouncing, over-excited Bagman; his normally sunny face was overcast with a cloud of seriousness. Helplessly the twins had to watch him knock on the door and be let into the kitchen.

'Hello Mrs. Weasley', he said to their mother.

'Hello' she said stiffly, already glaring Fred and George. She had already sussed out that this visit was not fuelled by positive reasons.

Bagman sat down wearily. 'This evening I received an interesting call from a squib living in Ottery St Catchpole. Apparently someone crashed into the top of a 16-foot tree, on the outskirts of the village...'

'How terrible', said Fred innocently.

'...Mounted on brooms...And matching your description', he finished.

'Oh'

'I heard this news and, taking into account your trouble-making natures, I felt compelled to check the broom-room. Two important items were missing. Boys, I don't know. One day in the Ministry and you manage to cause mass uproar and steal two priceless brooms'.

'Eh-hem', interrupted George. 'Borrow'

'We were going to return them', added Fred defensively.

'Uh huh' said Bagman, unconvinced. 'Well anyway, we were going to throw you out, but your school has convinced us to give you another try. You have Dumbledore's persuasive letters to thank for that. You will not, however, be continuing work in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Quite frankly we've had enough of you...'

'Rude' muttered Fred and George together.

'... But we have transferred you to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, to perhaps teach you some much-needed life lessons. And it should be difficult for you to get up to anything in such a boring placement...'

_Oh, really? _thought Fred cunningly.

'We wanted to move you to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophe's as it seems to be so perfectly suited to you...', he added, expression amused for a moment.

The brothers couldn't help but allow a grin to crack their faces.

'Anyway, just see the Security Wizard in the morning and he will tell you where to go. One last thing; _Accio Smoulderdash'. _The two dream-brooms zoomed silently downstairs from Fred and George's bedroom, to be met by Bagman's waiting hands.

'Good day', he said before apparating.

A short, uncomfortable silence passed. Both twins looked down, unable to meet their mothers crushing glare.

'Well', she said quietly. 'That was interesting.' Suddenly her voice pumped up to an ear-splitting yell. 'WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? YOU WERE LUCKY YOU WERE'NT KICKED OUT. THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A VALUBLE OPPURTUNITY FOR YOU...' There was a great deal more of the same subject.

When the shouting session had finished, his mother stomped out to wash the dishes and his father returned to his dilapidated shed outside. Fred turned to his twin.

'Come on George. Let's go and 'prepare' for tomorrow'.

George understood immediately, and followed him to 'prepare' for the coming day.

**How will Fred and George get on in their new department? What 'preparations' will they make? Find out in the next instalment.**

**I know this chapter didn't have much to do with Ministry antics; it was just a light breather in between department transfers. I don't want to let you down again, so I won't suggest a time for when the 5****th**** chapter will be written. You'll get it when you get it.**

**Thanks to all that have reviewed; keep them coming! Reader feedback is very important; positive or negative.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own any Harry Potter characters. They are the property of J.K. Rowling.**

Chapter 5

The next morning, Fred and George copied the previous day's journey with their father. Mr. Weasley left them at the security desk with harsh words of warning to behave, before hurrying of to a meeting on regurgitating toilets. The security wizard, scarred by Fred's comment the day before, was wearing a patterned woolly hat that was firmly pulled over his ears, causing him to look even more ridiculous. He noticed that both twins were carrying battered briefcases today; what they contained was a mystery, as he doubted it was paper-work.

'Hello', he said stiffly, as the brothers struggled not to explode with hysteria at the sight of his hat.

Professionalism forced him to continue. 'You have been placed in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. This is located on Level Two and you will be reporting to a Mrs. Ingrid Markby, who works in the Improper Use of Magic Office. She will brief you when you get there. That's all'.

He pointed impatiently towards the lifts. The twins turned to go, but Fred swivelled round again to face the wizard.

'By the way...'

The wizard looked up from his newspaper.

'...Nice hat'.

***************************************************************************

Ingrid Markby was a small, stern woman whose face was carved in stone. Her unusual Muggle-style business suit rang out importance. She was not the sort of woman who stood for nonsense, and she ran a tight ship of hard-work and good behaviour. She reminded them of Minerva McGonagall. Except two feet shorter.

Her briefing was ...brief.

'Desks are over there. You need to work through the tasks on the top piece of parchment. You may take an hour lunch break at twelve. No slacking and no more phony gas-leaks. Of you go then! What are you still standing here for?'

The brothers looked at her in shock, recovering from her high-speed, bad-tempered introduction.

'Erm... Sure', said Fred, grabbing his twins arm and hastily pulling him towards the desks. Avoiding Markby's piercing glare was top priority.

George snatched the task sheet of the desk and scanned through the list.

'Dull. Dull. Tolerable. Menial. Potentially suicidal... ah hah. ''Replicate 100 copies of this month's meeting schedules. Marcus Porter will perform the replicating charm for you''.

'Perfect' said Fred and he and George proceeded to examine everyone's name plaques nailed to the desks until they found a young, skinny, freckly man, who looked as though he had just started shaving.

'We need this replicating', said George, handing him the schedule.

Fred secretively snuck him another two pieces of paper, eyes roving for signs of Markby. 'And... erm... these too.'

Porter looked puzzled, shrugged his shoulders and got on with the request.

'Now if you will excuse us, we have to make a detour to the kitchen...' said George.

***************************************************************************

Mr. Weasley's meeting had finished, and he was thankful. Discussing the pro's and con's of creating a special squad of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol to investigate public toilets was not the most gripping subject to spend a two-hour meeting on. Especially when no-one can agree on a name for the squad. Sighing with relief, he wandered down the corridor in the direction of his office, to overhear a clamour of concerned voices.

'Oh my! Should we be worried?'

'It says he's highly dangerous. Of course we should be worried'

'Well, he won't get past me. He'd best hope I don't spot him'

'Oh please don't do anything rash! He could seriously harm you!'

He curiously glanced over to the source of the noise, and saw a group of Ministry workers all gathered round a piece of paper tacked to the wall. Raising an eyebrow, he elbowed his way through the crowd to read it. A familiar, plastic face stared back, its goofy face blown up to fit most of the poster. Messy scrawl was scribbled above and beneath. However, it was still legible. Just.

It read;

''**Have you seen this duck? Wanted for crimes against the common people and goes by the menacing name of 'duckie'. If sighted, he should be approached with extreme caution, as he is deemed to be highly dangerous. For more information, contact the official office of Cornelius Fudge, who will deal with all concerns personally''**

As he was reading, he could already see people scrabbling for their quills and hurrying back to their offices.

'Come on', he heard one someone say to their colleague. 'I'm going to go write a memo to Fudge. You can co-write it with me...'

Similar conversations were taking place around him, and he glanced down to the end of the hallway. To his horror, many more identical posters where pinned to the walls. The Ministry was covered with them. Mr. Weasley clapped his hands to his face. His sons really did have an unnerving talent for causing havoc.

***************************************************************************

Twelve o'clock midday. The time when those who would rather not eat at their desks, came to enjoy a half hour rest and the kitchens best range of cafeteria food. The clatter of cutlery and the quiet murmur of polite chatter was no different to a Muggle canteen. Apart from the occasional levitating glass.

Fred and George had stationed themselves at a tucked-away table in the corner. They had brought their own food, and were now eagerly awaiting the commencement of the lunch-time performance. It had been easy to gain access to the kitchens. Like at school, elves prepared and cooked all the meals. All it had taken was to drop a few names of Hogwarts elves they knew, and they were immediately granted entry into the hub of the Ministry's food preparation.

The first reactions came from those who had selected the fish pie for lunch, when those eating it began to levitate. Concerned eyes looked at them as they rose a few inches of the ground, knives and forks still impaled with the tampered food, and lingered there for a few moments. Some female victims vainly tried to preserve their dignity, as a few of the more immature male staff took the opportunity to look up their robes. One by one they dropped back to the ground, took a puzzled look at the pie, before pushing it away and moving onto dessert.

Fred and George silently high-fived under the table. The Fizzing Whizbees had done their job. It was a gentle start to the lunch-time entertainment, but better was to come.

Suddenly, many reactions started to happen at once. A dozen casserole eaters started to breathe fire, causing those sitting opposite's robes to become aflame. They urgently chugged down water to try and counteract the effects of the Pepper Imps. Meanwhile those eating chicken salad, mistaking the Acid Drops for capers, were running around madly, gesturing to their tongues and trying to fight the water of the kitchen staff, who were clumsily tossing jugs of it over suspected fire-breathers and their victims.

Fred and George had also decided to experiment with some Muggle substance called a 'laxative'. Those consuming the vegetable lasagne began to feel some concerning bowel movements, and made an emergency dash to the door.

At that moment, Ingrid Markby decided enter the canteen for a relaxing lunch. However at the doorway she was almost mowed down by a laxative-inflicted mob, who were stampeding to the toilets. She was forced to perform a dramatic leap out of the way, which would have looked rather good in slow motion.

Fred and George settled back in their seats, and began to tuck in as a half-naked wizard hurtled past their table, brandishing his flaming robes.

'Pass us the chocolate frogs George...'

***************************************************************************

Surely such a large amount of chaos unfolding in the very same department the Weasley Twins were stationed in, was not a co-incidence? Any fool could decipher that correlation. And Markby was no fool. So, predictably, Fred and George were seated in her office, patiently waiting for the onslaught of rage about to ensue.

When Markby entered the room, her mouth was pulled tighter than a purse drawstring. She stiffly sat down in her chair, eyes ablaze with fury. The brothers coolly looked back at her, accustomed to the anger of people who just didn't understand their 'art'.

Finally their supervisor felt able to speak. 'You have hereby been banned from the Ministry on the following charges. 1) Making a false criminal accusation that disrupted the Minister of Magic's ability to do his job...'

'Criminal accusation? It was a rubber duck...' pointed out Fred.

'Yeah, and how did we disrupt Fudge's ability to work anyway...'

Markby's voice volume cranked up several livid notches. 'He had to physically wade through a sea of memo's to get to his desk! That's how! And you know what the memo's subjects were about? This!'

She held up the offending poster. Fred and George had to fight back laughter at the contrast of the smiling, yellow face placed next to the contorted, red one.

'That's right!' she screeched. 'And it gets even more amusing. Almost setting fire to the department canteen, no less. HAVE YOU ANY IDEA HOW MUCH RE-PLASTERING THAT WILL TAKE!'

She took a few, much-needed deep breathes before continuing.

'Fifteen people admitted to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophe's; nine with scorch-marks and no clothes and another six with acid-damaged tongues. And not to mention the staff you gave the lexinatives to...'

'Laxatives', corrected George, grinning slightly.

'Whatever. That group of staff disrupted the floors below and above, running to the toilets. You know why they couldn't use the ones on this floor?' she asked, a mad glint in her eyes.

'Do tell', said Fred, in a mock-posh voice.

'Because _someone _had pinned these on the lavatory doors'. She held up another poster.

This one read;

'**This is a restricted zone. Do not enter! Uncontained toxic gas is present.'**

'So', said Markby, lowering the paper with a shaking hand. 'Taking all that into account, I think that this time your ban is justified...'

_Crack!_

Dumbledore conveniently apparated into the office. Ignoring Markby's surprised expression, he addressed the twins.

'Boys. I'm not going to waste my time telling you of. I'm sure you will receive enough of that when you go home tonight. But I will say this; take this opportunity seriously. I know that you seem to enjoy causing as much trouble as you possibly can, but Hogwarts has set this work-experience placement up for you, to give you a taste of how the working world operates. When you go to your next department, try and remember that.'

Markby had to interrupt.

'Excuse me!' her voice riddled with disbelief. 'There isn't going to be a next department. They have been banned from the Ministry on a number of serious charges'.

Dumbledore raised a calm hand. 'I will persuade the Ministry to give them another chance. You can leave that to me. But boys; be careful. This chance may be the last one you get here. Don't waste it. I must be going now to talk to the Minister. You two need to report to the Security Wizard in the morning. He'll direct you to your new department. Farewell'. With that, he apparated.

There was a short silence.

'Well, looks like we'll be coming back to the Ministry tomorrow. Missing you already', said Fred and George in unison. They cheerfully bounded out the room, leaving Markby to consider retirement.

**So, how will Fred and George get on in their new department? Will they take Dumbledore's advice, or continue to fool around? Find out in the next chapter. I'm going on holiday for a week on Wednesday, but I will still try and do a plot outline for chapter 6, ready to write up when I get back.**

**Thanks to all that have reviewed; keep them coming! Reviews are very important to me. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. It all belongs to J..**

**It has occurred to me that I have not thanked my reviewers for supporting me! So here are some credits.**

**Nikki Diamond: For being so wonderful to chat with, and for entertaining me with your fan fiction (Check out her stories!)**

**PheonixFire55: For being my first ever reviewer and for your continual support since.**

**And a big thanks to my other reviewers: Selesteant, FredWeasleyLivesOn, the good dr, violet-phoenix-rose, imaginativereader12 and mimimi213. Also, thanks to anyone that's subscribed or favourited.**

**Anywho, let's get on shall we.**

Chapter 6

George hid his laughter-wracked face behind his brothers back. Fred himself was keeping a firm hand clamped over his own mouth; it really was impossible to maintain a straight face.

Possessing as much fashion sense as a house-elf, the Security Wizard **(AN: 'What!' I hear you** **say. '6 chapters into the fic and she still hasn't come up with a name for this unfortunate man?'... Yeah... I'm lazy like that)** had abandoned his hat-wearing campaign in favour of a far more horrifying one; and far more hilarity-provoking.

He adjusted his dark-brown wig as he checked the memo that lay in front of him. Yes. A wig. And a wig that was even more absurd in appearance than the original offending hair-cut. The words 'defeat of purpose' sprang to mind.

The Security Wizard was pretending not to notice their laughing fit. However what he read on the memo caused a smile of pleasure to light up his usually stormy, embarrassed features.

Fred was unnerved by this sudden change of mood.

'Are you constipated, or is that your attempt at a smile?' he enquired.

The wizard allowed his sly smirk to slide further across his face, as he eyed Fred with a mixture of triumph and loathing.

'It seems that Fudge has identified your weakness. I feel sure that your behaviour will be a lot more manageable...' he relished the moment. '...now that you have been placed in different departments to each other'.

'Huh', said Fred, highly miffed. 'Why? We're not _that_ bad when we're together'.

George gave a snort of laughter that indicated he thought the complete opposite.

The Security Wizard did not look convinced. 'Well I suppose you're right. It's perfectly normal to mass evacuate the Ministry, steal priceless broomsticks, almost expose the wizarding world to the Muggle's, burn down the cafeteria, nearly assassinate Fudge by drowning him in memos and send a long-serving employee into retirement... in the space of two days. It's madness that they aren't keeping you together. You're doing grand!'

The Wizard finished his sarcastic drawl and looked back at them, before jabbing a finger at George.

'Which one are you?' he asked roughly.

'George'

'Right. You've been sent to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And you...' he said, pointing at Fred '...have been sent to the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. I don't think you're gonna be too popular down there', he added with a smirk.

Fred briefly remembered the list of casualties Markby had read to them the day before; all caused by their antics.

'Enjoy your day', the wizard said, satisfied that he caused them discomfort.

Both brothers treated him to a cold stare. They walked towards the lifts, before turning back simultaneously.

'By the way... Nice wig', they said in unison.

***************************************************************************

Fred was fidgeting as he waited for the introduction into his new department. He wasn't used to being alone. It was so bizarre. It's not like he couldn't cope without George for the rest of the work-experience; he just felt a little deflated that he wouldn't have his brother to brighten his dull time here. But... 'twin telepathy'(basic intuition), informed him that it was in his brother's character to not be easily defeated. He felt sure that his twin would still try and add a little zest to his own department; and he was decided he would attempt to do the same.

A shrill, but refined and ornamented voice smashed through his quiet thoughts.

'Fred, is it?' the voice bellowed.

A stately-looking man pranced into the room in a pompous, regal manner. His walk had a natural, silly little skip injected into it, which was rather distracting. A thin grey worm was precariously balanced on his top lip; an abysmal excuse for facial hair. He clasped his hands together, and his face positively radiated with excitement.

'Sooo looking forward to seeing you! I'm Mortimer Radley and I run this happy little family known as the Department for Magical Accidents and Catastrophes', he exclaimed, still beaming.

Fred looked behind him. Some members of his 'happy little family' were currently using their combined force to pull a large potions jar of a patients head, while another held him down. Further along, on another one of the beds, a man was sprouting huge, vertical horns that weren't getting any smaller. His panicked healer was negotiating, via crystal ball, to have him moved to a room with a higher ceiling; ideally the Atrium.

'We certainly are a fun-loving bunch of staff that, I feel sure, will make you feel welcome' he continued, not appearing to notice the background noises of pained grunts and exclamations of '1...2...3... Heave!'

'I've heard about some of you and your brothers little adventures. We already had one of our wards full to the brim due to the cafeteria incident yesterday', he said in an amused fashion, as though he was delighted by the memory.

Fred was growing concerned. _Oh gosh, I can't believe this guy is in charge of my health-plans._

'So, I will show you around and you can see how we do things here and how we co-operate effectively with St. Mungos...' he babbled, skipping through the door.

Fred followed him wearily.

***************************************************************************

'I really wouldn't get too friendly with those, ', George's guide fretfully informed him.

George was in the process of tickling a bad-tempered Cornish Pixie through the bars of its cage. The Pixie was responding by attempting to take a chunk out of his tormentor's finger.

Truth be told, George was impressed with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Before visiting, he thought their job consisted solely of halting Gnome invasions, killing innocent creatures and making Centaurs angry. However, the department's activities had proved to be more extensive and varying than he had first perceived. They had many different offices dealing with every imaginable aspect of animal welfare and control. Not to mention the large storehouses of the creatures in question; most of them either under investigation or research. There was also one secure room that housed Muggle creatures who had been experimented on with magic, thus creating mutations and variations. Much to his disappointment, George had not been allowed to see them as their behaviour was highly unpredictable.

'...Notice that all the cages are large enough for the captives to move around and exercise, thus complying with the Magical Creature Welfare Act, paragraph...MR. WEASLEY! PLEASE REFRAIN FROM DOING THAT!' screeched his guide, her grey bun shaking.

George had now moved onto poking the Pixie. He seemed to have spontaneously mastered the art of aggravating Magical Creatures; and the art of yanking his finger back with speed.

'Hey, I don't know why you're worrying about it. It's the poor sod who's got to feed it next that you should feel sorry for.'

The Pixie was fuming; rattling the bars and making rude gestures. The prodding wouldn't cease.

'SIR! DO NOT POKE IT! THIS TREATMENT OF OUR SPECIMENS IS INEXCUSABLE! OUT THIS MINUTE'.

'Fine'

As he and his livid tour-guide marched down the corridor, a man was walking in the direction of the room they had exited, grasping a bucket of something unpleasant; presumably food.

George gave him a thumbs-up.

'Good luck', he said with a sympathetic smile.

***************************************************************************

Meanwhile Fred was seated in a First Aid class, observing. The class was part of a course offered to civilians, that was designed to show them what action to take in basic medical emergencies. The civilians also got the chance to practice their newly-honed life-saving techniques on a plastic dummy. Which was fortunate. Fred couldn't help feeling that had it been a living person, they would now be in an even more critical condition than when the emergency struck.

The class was now attempting to move the victim onto a stretcher, and out of sight of 'Muggles' (who consisted of several members of the class dressed in torn jeans and hideous jumpers). The first part had gone reasonably well; the class had moved the patient onto the stretcher with only a few knocks and bumps.

'Let's hope our patient doesn't have a slipped disk', the course-tutor had commented despairingly.

The class then hit a slight snag when they all tried to go in different directions to each other. What resulted was a heated tug-of-war over the stretcher.

'Mr. Weasley, may you join me outside for one moment?' came the plummy voice of Radley from the doorway. 'I need to have a brief word with you. I won't distract you from the class for too long; I know it is most educational'.

Fred's face was etched with confusion as he stared pointedly at the middle of the room where the tug-of-war had escalated into a punch-up. Sighing, he got up and went to join Radley outside.

'Now, as you know, the Relaxation Booth housed in this department is designed to so that those recovering from illness can have half-an-hour to be soothed. Taking this into account, I wonder why you took it upon yourself to replace the candles with egg-scented ones.'

'Well, sir, I figured it would knock the patients out faster'.

Radley frowned. 'The purpose of the Relaxation Booth is not to become unconscious. When people relax they close their eyes, but...'

Fred shrugged. 'Same thing'

***************************************************************************

'Sorry about the untidy state of my desk' apologised George's guide, plonking a stack of papers into her in-tray and brushing aside a pile of empty chocolate frog wrappers.

'Right. Grab yourself a chair and I'll explain things. So, this is the Pest Advisory Bureau and we deal with public concerns regarding any kind of pest control or management. If people have a concern, or a full-scale invasion emergency, then they will contact us either through one of the crystal balls placed on everyone's desks, or through one of the four fire-places located in the room. We receive calls all the time, so hopefully you will get the opportunity to observe me deal with a call... Oh crudsticks, I left my wand in the bathroom...' she declared abruptly, rootling through her bulging handbag.

'I'll be right back. If a call does come through, just get Gilbert to come and take it', she said, pointing to an elderly wizard with a wiry, white beard, whose main concern was catching up on sleep, rather than working.

George waited patiently for her return. He was staring up at the dingy ceiling when a disembodied voice came from the crystal ball placed on his guide's desk.

'...Excuse me? Is anyone there?'

George looked at Gilbert and decided against waking him. What was the point of simply observing? This was Work _Experience. _He slid his chair in front of the ball, to be greeted by the worried face of a brown-haired witch. He wore his best professional smile.

'Yes, Madam. What can I do for you?'

'I've got an infestation of rouge owls in my house.' she began, not seeming to mind that her advisor was a fifteen-year old. 'There are about 6 of them; I've managed to contain them to just one room...'

'Hold on, hold on', interrupted George, outraged 'You can't classify our feathered friends as _pests_!'

The woman's expression became icy. 'Well, sir, which office do you suggest I contact about this matter? The Apparation Test Centre?' she asked sarcastically. 'The owls have already attacked my daughter, and I'm running out of time before my kitchen become extremely unhygienic. So are you going to help me or not?'

George sighed. This witch was very irritating. 'I'll see what I can do'

'Thank you. So, I'd like to enquire as to what humane methods I can use to get rid of them and also to prevent them from returning'.

'Okay, well you have several options. The most effective would be to buy a large bag of bird seed and pour it over someone; preferably someone you don't like very much. Then, you just get them to run as far away as possible'.

His customer wasn't amused. 'And the other option?' she inquired stiffly.

'Erm... Pay an animal behaviourist to train them to do the house-work?'

***************************************************************************

Now it was afternoon, Fred was eager to do something a lot more productive than watch a plastic dummy get decapitated. He resolved that it was time to take a more hands-on approach and actually try and do some healing. He had raided his father's office, well aware that he kept Muggle tools under the desk to tamper with whenever he became bored.

First, to heal the horn-growing guy.

'I wouldn't drink that if you value the lining of your stomach', warned Fred, as he passed a patient about to swallow a cupful of Skele-Gro.

Fred hid the borrowed saw behind his back, not wanting to alarm goat-man as he advanced towards him.

'Hello!' Fred beamed. 'How are you feeling?'

Goat-man looked at him with difficulty. 'I've been better. You know when this is going to be fixed?' he asked, gesturing to the sprouting horns.

'Now' smiled Fred and pulled the DIY tool from behind his back with a flourish.

He worked quickly to lower the risks of being sighted. Eventually the first horn fell from the patients head, taking several ceiling tiles with it.

'Timber!' yelled Fred.

Mortimer Radley entered the room to witness the horn clatter to the ground.

'Good gracious! What are you doing?'

'I thought I'd try out a few home-remedies on the patients', Fred informed him, brushing plaster of his shoulders.

'Well, I don't think I can allow that...'

He was interrupted as a swarm of Ministry employee's spilled into the room, all sporting various injuries. Burns, bites and stings appeared to be most popular. A noisy commotion was taking place outside; angry voices clamoured.

Curious, Fred barged a path to the doorway and leaned out. George was being escorted down the corridor by a dozen burly security men, presumably being taken to a senior-employee's office. He was protesting loudly.

'Hey, give me a break! How was I to know that the lever opened _all _the cages? I'm neither a psychic nor a mechanical expert...'

Fred grinned. _Sorry Dumbledore, _he apologised silently.

**What will happen next? Find out in the next chapter. I know I didn't really leave it on much of a cliff-hanger with this one, but my hand was hurting by the end.**

**Please keep the reviews coming. They are much appreciated; positive or negative!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Please keep the reviews coming. They are much appreciated; positive or negative!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything. It is all the property of J..**

Chapter 7

Fred and George sat side by side on the moth-eaten sofa. The atmosphere in the room could have been sliced with the cold steel of a knife. The Weasley's clock ticked loudly; Fred and George's hands were currently pointing at 'Mortal peril'. Mrs. Weasley was seated opposite them, to angry to even speak. The twins could read their mother accurately. They were like volcanologists when it came to her; they could see that she was verging on explosion. Mr. Weasley had already escaped to the kitchen to avoid the impending impact.

When Mrs. Weasley felt capable of speech it wasn't deafening as expected; it was more of a seething hiss.

'What a fine way to thank Dumbledore for all his persuasive efforts. I hope you are very proud', steamed Mrs. Weasley at her slightly ashamed sons. Slightly ashamed.

'But it was an accident this time', protested Fred.

'We didn't intentionally cause trouble. I pulled the lever on the assumption it only opened one of the cages. And Fred was only trying to _help _that patient, seeing as the healing staff were doing next to nothing', added George.

Mrs. Weasley was not convinced of Georges excuse nor moved by the description of Fred's 'good-intentions'.

'So I suppose that Fred _accidently_ switched the candles round in the therapy booth and ,you George, _accidently_ disturbed those Cornish pixies? Hmm?' she replied questioningly.

Fred thought for a moment. 'Well... To be honest, we didn't think you'd find out about _those_ incidents_._'

Mrs Weasley snapped.

'I've had enough of this! Go to your room right away and pack, seeing as you will be returning to Hogwarts more than a week earlier than intended.', she screamed.

'Fine'

***************************************************************************

'You seen my blue and white shirt, George?' asked Fred, batting Errol out of the way.

'I always thought that was my shirt?' replied George.

'Nah. Mum bought you a green and white one', disagreed Fred.

'Oh yeah! ... No I haven't. You checked in the wardrobe?' enquired George.

'The wardrobe! What would my shirt be doing in a wardrobe!?' answered Fred sarcastically.

George laughed. 'You mind if I check again?' he said, advancing towards the double doors.

'I really wouldn't', warned Fred.

Too late, for George had already yanked the bulging doors open. He hastily jumped out of the way as a cascade of junk and clothing crashed to the ground. When the dust had settled, a muffled squawk could be faintly heard from underneath the carnage.

'HAVE YOU DROPPED AN EYELASH? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING UP THERE?' screeched their mother's voice from the bottom of the stairs.

'Nothing', Fred called back, dislodging Errol from the fallen junk.

'I don't know about you but I think we ought to go to sleep. Let's forget the shirt' said George with a tired yawn.

'Agreed'

***************************************************************************

6 am. Fred and George were intending to receive another two hours sleep before their mother would wake them. They snored quietly, oblivious to the beautiful, deep orange sky outside and the twittering of many bird songs. But not for long.

They were rudely awoken when a short, fat wizard wearing undersized robes, burst through their bedroom door screaming 'C'mon! Get your lazy arses out of bed!'

To make totally sure the twins had got the message, he pulled a small horn from his tight robes and honked it raucously.

'What the hell!' shouted the twins in unison, simultaneously bolting upright in their beds.

Mrs. Weasley strode into the room, yelling angrily at the little man. 'You could have let _me_ wake them up you know! You're supposed to do it _gently_...'

'Pah', said the man, with a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Gently? That's no good with teen-agers. You'd need a brass band to shift these two.'

'Who are you and what are you doing barging into our room.... AT SIX IN THE MORNING!' demanded George, shouting the last part when he caught a glance of his watch.

'You think your cheek is gonna work with me sonny?' asked the intruder, pointing an accusatory finger.

'Huh?'

'I'm James Crowley, and I'm here to introduce you back into the Ministry'.

Fred frowned. 'No way. We're officially banned. We spent our last chance'

Crowley stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'Yes, I heard about that. My best mate got bitten in a most unpleasant place by one of the escapees. He still can't stand up straight, thanks to you. It seems that Dumbledore bribed Fudge and his staff with a life-times supply of sweets if they took you back; Fudge is a sucker for Cockroach Clusters. Of course that's not what they expect me to tell you. The official statement I'm supposed to read is:'

'**Due to Albus Dumbledore's considerable contribution to the welfare of the Ministry, we have decided to allow you to return to the Ministry of Magic, only applicable if you comply with several conditions. These conditions are non-negotiable. The conditions are as follows: **

**1) You will be under permanent supervision for the rest of your time here.**

**2) You will be searched every morning for any forbidden materials or items that could potentially cause harm.**

**3) You will be working out-of-office to ensure no more danger comes to the Ministry building.**

**Welcome back.**

'There you have it. The basis of these conditions is a little more detailed than that, but that's not for you to know', he added, casting a knowing glance in Mrs. Weasleys direction.

She smiled back.

The twins looked puzzled, but asked no questions. This guy was a little scary.

_Flashback to the Weasley's kitchen, 15 minutes previously._

Both parents grasped a cup of coffee, looking dishevelled. They tried to maintain an alert expression when listening to Crowley.

'Basically, Dumbledore and the Ministry have created a plan for keeping them in line. So far, we've tried giving them an interesting department, we've tried giving them a boring department and we've tried splitting them up. None of those have worked.'

He paused to take a noisy slurp from his cup.

'So, a three-point plan has been formulated. 1) Dumbledore's theory is that because they have been in a contained environment, they haven't really been given the opportunity to get involved and engrossed in the work. He thinks by taking them out of the Ministry, but still continuing to do Ministry work, then it will focus them more. 2) The decision was made yesterday, but we chose to tell you this morning to give them as little time as possible to 'prepare'. 3) And they will also be put under constant supervision. Dumbledore opposed this, but the Ministry insisted.

'Sounds pretty fool-proof', said Mrs. Weasley, nodding thoughtfully.

'I'm sure they'll find a way', muttered Mr. Weasley despairingly.

_Back to the present_

The twins dressed, still half-asleep, and met Crowley downstairs in the living room. He was clutching a feather duster.

'Oh please say we aren't working in Magical Maintenance' complained George.

'What? No, of course not. Don't be silly! This is a portkey' Crowley informed them.

'To where?' asked both brothers.

'Can't tell you the exact name or address, but you will roughly know where we are eventually. C'mon then; grab hold of this.' he said, brusquely shoving the duster in Fred's face.

'Haha. The feathers are going up my nose...'

WHAM!

Fred, George and Crowley were jolted forward suddenly. They felt their feet leave the ground, and high winds whipped their face. For a few seconds they remained like this, until they crashed heavily onto an uneven floor. George grabbed onto Crowley, as his bowling-ball figure meant he was threatening to roll away.

'Eh,' he grunted, picking himself up. 'In my forty-eight years, I will never get used to landings.'

He glanced down at the twins. 'Why are you two still lolloping about on the floor? Get up and gather round me', he said gesturing to a desk tucked away in the corner.

Heaving themselves upright, Fred and George looked around at their surroundings. They were in a large, dimly-lit room. It wasn't apparent where the room was housed; there were no windows. A few more desks were in the space, with cloaks hanging on the backs of the chairs; evidently more people worked down here. A dozen worm-ridden tables were heaped in the corner and the wooden panelling lining the walls was riddled with dark stains. A musty scent lingered in the air.

'Erm, do people really work down here? It's pretty grim', commented Fred, as he and George took seats opposite Crowley.

'People do work down here, but those who own these desks aren't in the office for long. They mostly work outside in the community. This, gentlemen, is the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol', he announced with a flourish.

Both boys looked at him with utter shock.

Fred spoke. 'After all we've done...'

'...they trust us enough to catch criminals?' finished George, genuinely surprised.

'Well you won't exactly be physically catching the criminals; only trained officers are allowed to do that. But you will be getting as involved as possible. What we do here is not up to the Auror standard of danger, but thieves and scammers need to be apprehended as well as Death-eaters right? So, any questions?' said Crowley, looking expectant.

'When undercover, is it a staff requirement to wear fake noses?' asked George.

Crowley gave him a weary look. 'I'll take that as a no'

***************************************************************************

Fred and George were standing at the bottom of a ladder, with Crowley and two brutish wizards who had been assigned to 'supervise' the twins, thus complying with the conditions. Their names were Thompson and Rowe.

The glamorous perception of the Patrol's 'secret location', was slightly ruined when they all emerged from a hole in an alleyway, behind a small building that housed the Gents toilets. They were up a back street, linked to Diagon Alley.

As well as Crowley (who was the commander of the unit), the twins and their supervisors, there was also a young female officer, introduced to them as Amelie Redford. Other officers were presumably stationed around the area. The team were on the trail of a serial scammer, who sold dodgy wands that backfired.

'Wait here, and if you're lucky you may witness some action', said Crowley. He and Redford strode of in a purposeful manner, leaving the brothers to be watched by their expressionless supervisors.

Several dreary minutes went by, and on their sixteenth round of 'Rock, Paper, Scissors', Fred and George heard loud, annoyed shouting. The bustling crowd parted in one smooth ripple. A beefy, thick-set man hurtled down the middle, wearing torn robes and carrying a briefcase that looked as though someone had given it a good kicking.

A combination of impulsiveness and intuition told Fred that this was the wanted wizard.

Without considering the consequences, as per usual, he raised his wand and yelled '_Petrificus Totalus_!'

The wizard went stiff and slowly toppled to the ground. His head knocked the ice-cream from a little girl's hand.

Redford ran up, pushing through the gathering crowd, with Crowley behind her who was looking very red in the face. He took one glance at the rigid man and stormed over to the brothers.

'We _never _use body-binding charms on low-danger suspects! What were you thinking?'

'Yeah, but we caught him though' shrugged Fred.

'James', Redford called. 'We need to move this guy. The crowd is getting restless'

Quite a few spectators had gathered round. Some people further back were bouncing up and down to get a better view, jumping heavily on the feet of those around them. Through the clamour of 'ouches', a little girl was wailing loudly, and pointing at her ex-ice-cream that was squashed into the criminals forehead. Further along, an elderly man was ranting about the disgraceful conduct of the Ministry; his complaints were slowly transforming into a lesson on political history.

Thompson and Rowe went to help Redford carry the unfortunate wizard; they manoeuvred him with as much grace as would be used for a plank of wood. On the up-side, he also made a convenient battering ram for ploughing through the thick crowd.

Meanwhile Crowley and the twins had opened the fallen briefcase, and were now examining the content which consisted solely of the faulty, back-firing wands.

'Wow.... He had quite a hoard' remarked George.

'Excuse me' snapped the mother of the wailing girl. 'Are you going to compensate me for my daughters ruined ice-cream?'

Fred wore a charming smile. 'Of course madam. Take a free wand'.

Crowley snatched it out of his hand, horrified.

'Relax... I was joking'

***************************************************************************

Stationed at a back alleyway, next to a house, were Fred and George, pulling at the collars of their stuffy Patrol Robes that they had been issued with. The rest of the team had brought the frozen suspect into the home of a private healer, who was kindly conducting a health-check to make sure Fred's hasty charm hadn't inflicted any lasting damage. Not that he had been given much of a choice; Crowley and his cronies had simply walked in and plonked the crook on the kitchen table. The healer's estranged wife was busy shouting something about ruined casserole.

The crowd, after much persuasion and knuckle-cracking from Thompson and Rowe, had finally shifted and the last trickle of spectators were pouring away. One such spectator was a young wizard wearing rimless glasses, and sporting cropped, brown hair. He looked like the type to be lodged behind an accounting desk.

Fred and George looked at each other, meaningfully.

'It would be in proper Patrol conduct...' began Fred.

'...to question some witnesses' finished George, matching his brother grin.

Both brothers stepped out in front of the unfortunate man. Fred took a notebook from his robes and gave it a professional little shake. George handed him a self-inking quill.

'Excuse me sir. We represent the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol and we were wondering if we could ask you a few questions', said Fred, charming smile fixed in place.

The man looked pointedly at his watch.

'It will only take a few minutes', pressed George.

'Very well'

Fred began. 'Name?'

'Jonah Whitworth'

'Age?'

'22'

'Sexual orientation?'

Jonah looked taken a back. The Law Enforcement Patrol really did ask some prying questions these days.

'Straight', he answered reluctantly.

'Marital status?'

'Dating'

'Colour of your Granny's eyes?'

_What! _thought Jonah. _I know the Patrol are very thorough with questioning, but this is ridiculous._

Whitworth noticed that the questioner's twin was grappling with his laughter.

He became suspicious. 'Are you sure you're members of the Patrol?'

'Of course we are!' they said together.

'Observe our robes', said George importantly, as if that proved the point.

'You gonna answer our question?' Fred said abruptly.

'Fine. Light green'

'How many times a week do you talk to your neighbours regarding community crime?' asked Fred.

'Never, to be honest'

'How many times a week do you wash?'

Jonah frowned. 'Don't you think that's a little personal?'

George plastered a serious look to his face and placed his hands together. 'Sir, in these violent times any detail could be the vital key to bringing down criminals and dark wizards'.

'Hmm... Everyday'

'How long on average do you spend on the toilet?'

'What!!! Surely that can't help with your enquiries!' shouted Whitworth, highly miffed.

'Sir, please...'

'Well... I... I... It depends on what I've eaten', stuttered Jonah.

Fred wrote the answer down carefully, brow creased, as if it was the most fascinating thing he'd ever heard.

'How many inches is your asset?'

'My what?' asked Jonah, confused.

George sighed and bent forward to whisper in his ear.

'How _dare _you!!!' exploded the young man.

'What's all the shouting about?' asked Crowley, stepping out the house. He had the frozen criminal hoisted on one shoulder.

'It really is most appalling! The Ministry should be ashamed...'

Whitworth relayed the details of the recent exchange. Crowley's face darkened as he listened.

George treated Jonah to a look of distain.

'Sneak'

***************************************************************************

'I can't say I'm surprised', sighed Mrs. Weasley in a defeated manner.

She and her husband were sitting downstairs. Fred and George had been sent to their room in disgrace.

'I knew this work experience would never work out', she continued.

Mr. Weasley nodded grimly.

'Yeah. I heard that Fudge told Dumbledore to take his Cockroach Clusters and stick them up his...'

'Arthur!'

**I think that the next chapter is probably going to be the final one guys, and it might be a fairly short one...Sorry! It needs to end at some point. Perhaps the next one **_**may **_**be the penultimate one, or the last one... I don't know. We'll see...**

**Thanks to Nikki Diamond for giving me the idea that the twins should question someone. (It was in one of our conversations a while back... You may not remember XD)**

**Thank you to all my reviewers.... Keep reviews coming pleeease!!! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter; J.K. Rowling does.**

Chapter 8

'So, what are you two going to do today?' asked Mrs. Weasley, buttoning up her coat.

Fred gave a dismissive shrug. 'We have no idea. I'm sure we'll think of something to keep ourselves entertained.'

'Hmm. It's a shame Hogwarts couldn't send the escort to take you back today. That would have been ideal', fretted their mother.

'Why? You want to get rid of us?' said George, with an expression of mock-hurt on his face.

'Don't you like our company?' supplied Fred.

'Your company is great. Your lack of self-control and sense of conduct, however, leaves a lot to be desired. But I suppose that Hogwarts need all the staff they can get for today's event', she said, picking up her handbag.

'Event?' muttered Fred, puzzled. 'It's the first-year's Head Lice Inspection Day...'

'I'm glad we're missing it actually. It's the same every year. All those screaming midgets running around, while the teachers chase them with shampoo bottles...' reminisced George.

Their mother sighed.

'Do you think you can be good for two hours while I'm at Diagon?' asked Mrs. Weasley. 'I'd like the house to be intact when I arrive back.'

'Sure'

'Okay. Leave me a note if you go out'.

Mrs. Weasley vanished in a soft whirl of emerald fire.

A few minutes of silence passed.

'I'm not half hungry, George,' moaned Fred, feebly grasping his stomach.

George longingly eyed a large glass jar of homemade fudge thoughtfully positioned on a shelf, 8-foot up the wall.

'She won't notice if two pieces are missing', he said convincingly, grabbing a rickety chair and putting it directly below the area of target.

He half-stood on it to ensure it was stable then, stretching to his full height, carefully eased the heavy lid of the jar.

'... Oh, dear. I get dafter every day. I left my purse... what are you doing?' enquired Mrs. Weasley, emerging from the fireplace.

She had arrived in time to witness Fred holding the legs of a battered chair, while George teetered on it, arm in the fudge jar.

'Erm... Well...' mumbled George, when sudden inspiration struck. 'I was checking the jar for glassworms.'

Fred slapped his hand to his forehead.

***************************************************************************

After locating her purse, and casting a sealing charm on the fudge-jar, Mrs. Weasley had departed yet again.

Fred and George were both slumped on the sofa, ignoring sharp hunger pangs, and attempting to think of something 'entertaining' to do.

Fred stumbled upon an idea. 'Hey, you do realise that the elves will allow us into the Ministry kitchens? They let us last time. They're bound to have food there'.

'Food? In a kitchen? Who'd have thought...' said George.

Fred's face cracked into a smile. 'What do you say...? Mum's not going to be back for a while yet'.

George's brow creased with apprehension. 'You really wanna go back there? After everything they've done to us?'

'What, you mean after everything we've done to _them. _Besides, the security wizard's desk is the opposite end of the Atrium to where the kitchen trap-door is. There's no way he'll see us; unless he has, like, telescopes for eyes'.

'Yeah... He could be like one of the X-men!'

'X-men?'

'Never mind. It's a muggle thing.'

'So, you wanna?'

George shrugged, apathetically.

'Sure. I mean; we got nothing else to do'.

***************************************************************************

'No, no, no sirs. We can't have you in here. We are very, very busy' exclaimed an uptight elf, as he tried to usher the twins out the kitchen. He wasn't having much luck, due to the fact that Fred and George were about four times his size.

Fred frowned. 'Why? What's the matter?' he appealed to Winky's older brother, Plinky.

**(AN: 'Plinky...?' Yes! I couldn't resist!)**

Plinky looked at Fred with difficulty through the large pile of cabbage he was carrying.

'We are preparing a grand banquet for some foreign guests to the Ministry' he answered, sounding slightly muffled.

'Yes we are' added the irritable supervisor elf who was trying to shoo them. 'Fudge himself is going to be there, and we are extremely understaffed'

'Why? Where are they all?' George wanted to know. He glanced confusedly around at the kitchen. Truth be told, it was looking a little depleted.

'Most of them are in bed, recovering from Dobby's birthday party' Plinky informed them, finally losing in his fight with the cabbage. He disappeared beneath a worktop, and the sounds of rolling vegetables could be heard.

'Recovering...' mused Fred. He took a detailed look at the staff that had made it into work. Most of them looked completely shattered and, between culinary duties, clutched at their heads and gave occasional feeble groans.

_Who'd have thought..._ pondered George.

'If you're so understaffed, then why don't we help you out?' offered Fred. 'We're ultra-bored'

'And ultra-hungry' added George.

The supervisor's features transformed from annoyance to thoughtfulness. 'You'll have to help prepare foreign foods'.

'...How foreign?'

***************************************************************************

Despite three quarters of the staff marked as absent, the noise in the kitchen was frantic, with undertones of chaos. All of its cooks being elves, the space had to be properly adapted to cater for the creatures small frames; worktops were lowered, the handles on knives made smaller, alarm buttons allocated inside the ovens in case employees fell in, and plenty of handy boxes to stand on. Humid steam was rich in the air, and the atmosphere was ripe with scents of exotic cuisine.

The banquet was mercilessly approaching, and the pressure increasing. As most of the guests were foreign wizards, the Ministry had ensured that they were to receive foods from their native countries; thus making them feel comfortable. This decision meant that the kitchen was filled with a varied and vast amount of bizarre and unusual food, some of which the twins doubted was edible. Vegetables that sprouted wings, which several elves were chasing round the kitchen, brandishing nets. Vegetables that emitted foul odours so bad, that the employee's had drawn straws to determine who would prepare them. Piles of unrecognisable insects that looked as though they had been freshly dug from someone's garden and tossed into a pot. Dead creatures with strange names like 'pogrebin' and 'billywigs'. A couple of labourers were grappling with some fire-crabs, trying to evade the streaks of flame shooting out of the creature's behinds; several chopping-boards had already been reduced to cinders.

**(AN: All the creatures and animals that I am describing were created by J.K. Rowling. The vegetables, however, were created by me)**

George, meanwhile, had been requested to prepare a fish called a Shrake. Its entire body was covered in sharp, intimidating spikes. George had his knife poised, but couldn't find a spike-free area to cut into. He ushered the supervisor over.

'Hey, where am I supposed to stick this knife?'

'Sorry, didn't catch that'

George repeated it, loudly. 'I don't know where to stick it'

The elf's eyes widened.

'Pardon!'

On the other side of the kitchen, Fred was busy peeling a case of vegetables that looked like giant turds, in both shape and colour. Whichever country they were native to, he sure never wanted to visit.

***************************************************************************

Later, Fred and George helped put the food onto the plates. Fred was busy icing the soufflé's. **(AN: Can you ice soufflés? For the purposes of this story, you can. Wizards are total weirdos anyway.)**

'Careful with that one' said the supervisor, referencing the plate. 'That one is the Ministers'

'Really? Shall I leave him a message?' asked Fred.

The icing pen was snatched hastily from his eager hands.

When the last plates were on their way out to the hungered guests, Fred and George decided to say their goodbyes, more to avoid washing-up than anything else. They were thanked profusely by the kitchen staff, before climbing the ladder to the trapdoor. George stopped Fred, mid-rung.

'You know we've worked in virtually all the departments...'

'Except the Department of International Magical Cooperation' interrupted Fred.

George considered this. 'Well we _have _worked for them, because we just helped prepare the banquet for _their _guests. Anyway, my point being; the only department we haven't visited is the Department Of Mysteries' hedged George, giving a sly smile.

Fred's face was etched with bewilderment, but now the clouds began to clear. A knowing smile split his face.

'You know, George. I like the way you think...'

***************************************************************************

The Ministry had been far too occupied with clearing up after the twin's aftermath that they had forgotten to reclaim their temporary floo passes. Fred and George briefly nipped back home to collect some 'essential supplies'; in other words, a bumper-box of Filibuster Fireworks. They left their mother an unsuspicious note, claiming they had gone for a walk down the local village.

When they appeared through an Atrium fire-place back at the Ministry, they discreetly hugged the wall, trying to stay out of sight of the security wizard.

'This is really when we need to be invisible' muttered Fred. 'Like those P-men you were talking about earlier'

'X-men' corrected George. 'P-men? What the hell... That sounds like a name for a gang of lavatory cleaners'.

They swept trained eyes round the Atrium. The security wizard, fed up of constant jibes, had gone to the extremes and shaved of all his offending hair. He was currently casting annoyed glances at a charmed broom, which had almost tripped him up several times as it vigorously cleaned under his desk. Only a sprinkle of employee's were scattered in the room, which meant less chance of being apprehended. The brother's destination was the golden lifts at the far end. The only issue was that to reach them, they would have to walk right past the security wizard's desk in blatant view. Fred and George briefly considered commando crawling to the lifts, but they quickly ruled that out; that particular method would be far too slow and would draw far too much unwanted attention. Not to mention that transporting fireworks whilst glued to the floor wasn't the easiest task to conduct. Their minds guided them to the same solution; they would have to leg it before anyone was given the chance to act.

They simultaneously smashed through their cover, ignoring the alarmed looks of staff. Legs pumping, hearts hammering and breath rasping, they charged swiftly to the lifts. Adrenaline surged through their systems, and the smell of rebelliousness triggered their brains sense of excitement. Fred bolted past the security desk, and attempted a James Bond skid into the lift. Unfortunately the tiled floor had just been mopped that morning and was rather hazardous. As a result, Fred shot through the door with unexpected speed and crashed painfully into the back-wall of the lift, memo's flapping round his head in a cartoon fashion.

George, not far behind, managed a brief shout of 'Baldie' directed at the bewildered security wizard, before hurtling after Fred. When he had entered the lift, in a far more dignified manner than his brother, he roughly jabbed the 'down' button, heart still racing. During the short, 15-second journey downwards, the twins prepared the fireworks for immediate usage. Their method of entry was a reckless and amateur one. Once in the corridor, they would simply light a few of the fireworks and 'hope' that one would blow a hole through the secure door to the Department of Mysteries. But as Fred had commented earlier, even if it didn't work, it would still be a 'rather pretty spectacle'.

The golden doors glided open, and the twins were met with a darkened, sombre corridor. A single, unreadable door was placed at the end. Even from here it radiated mystery.

George lit the first two fire-works. The fuse was quick to shorten and the cardboard column jolted, luminous light spurting from its tip. The fireworks rocketed and rebounded from the walls, spraying around bright colours that illuminated the dingy depths of the hallway. They pounded the walls with force and scorched the ceiling. Plaster rained down, integrating with the intricate patterns of resplendent light. Fizzing, bangs, crunches; all noises that would eventually lead to the twin's discovery. But they didn't care. Their non-conformist natures had spurred them into action, and attempting to gain entry into the most hidden-away department would be a great story to tell back at school.

'Stop a minute George, let's see if we've made any progress' shouted Fred, before his voice depleted into a coughing fit.

Through the thick smoke, the brothers could see a sharp light that advancing quickly towards them.

'What the hell...'

A tall man burst from the black smoke, flames streaking from his trousers. He zoomed past the twins and tried to jump into the lift.

'Stop right there!' demanded a voice of importance. 'Get him!'

Fred and George looked behind them and saw a dozen Ministry staff, Fudge headlining, standing at the top of the steps leading down the courtrooms. On the Ministers order, the ablaze wizard disappeared beneath a pile of employee's. Fudge strode over to the twins.

'Are you responsible for apprehending this criminal?' he asked them.

'Well... Erm... Yeah, yeah I suppose we are. Although we didn't realise he was down here...'

'Excellent!' interrupted Fudge. 'You've no idea how dangerous he is... He escaped from Courtroom Eight. Unfortunately it took us a while to process his absence. If it hadn't been for you two, he may have gotten away. Funny, don't you two usually _cause_ trouble?' chuckled Fudge.

The Minister evidently hadn't noticed that the corridor was a mass of smoking craters. Fred and George looked at each other.

'So do we get a medal?' asked Fred.

'Or maybe a cash reward?' included George.

Fudge laughed. 'I'm afraid not boys. Even if we did give you money, we'd only ask for it back to repair all this' he said, gesturing at the desecrated corridor.

He had noticed.

***************************************************************************

Fred and George lay in their beds, reflecting on the past week, the voice of their proud mother ringing in their ears.

'I'm just surprised you did something of use' she had said to them. 'Although I could question your method; I think maybe wrestling him to the ground would have been more effective than setting him on fire'.

The same thoughts were raging through their minds. Mr and Mrs. Weasley had always desired for them to work in government; always longed for it. Their encouragement was always present. They weren't pushy; they just wanted what was the best for their sons and made their opinions on the twin's future careers very obvious. It wasn't that Fred and George weren't smart. It wasn't that they were bored by the field of government. It wasn't that they were rebelling against their parents' wishes. It _was_ that they didn't want their futures planned. They wanted their choices in life to be spontaneous; much like their personality. The past week had proved, and strongly indicated, that their desire to cause trouble overbalanced their desire to experience the working world. Causing trouble and having a laugh was a talent in itself; not many people held that opinion. But they knew it to be true. If they applied their intelligence to doing something that they loved, then surely that would make them happy.

And surely happiness was the key to life?

**The End.**

**Well, there you go peeps. *sniff*. I hope you have enjoyed reading 'Fred and George at the Ministry' as much as I have enjoyed writing it!**

**Right from the beginning, one of the main purposes of this fic (besides to entertain), was to explain why Fred and George went on to start making products for Weasleys Wizard Wheezes; and also to explain their strong aversion to working in the Ministry of Magic. It was to help them realise their goals and career choices in life. I hope.**

**Please review; even if you read this fan fiction weeks, months, years from now, I still wanna know what you thought!!!**

**Credits: I'd like to thank anyone that read, subscribed, reviewed or favourited this story. This story would literally not exist without you. Being the unmotivated person that I am, I probably would have given up without your encouragement. **

**I would, however, like to give an extra special thanks to two people: **

**Nikki Diamond: For being a great friend, great supporter, great reviewer, and great fanfiction writer. I have immensely enjoyed reading your stories. And half of chapter 7 would not exist without your hilarious interview idea.**

**PheonixFire55: For being my first ever reviewer and for your continual support since. I love your fan fiction too (I'm almost done reading your super-long one...Lol)**

**Thank you and goodnight. **


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